I will never update this blog again. Arlo will not sleep unless I wear him or lie with him for a nap. WITH a boob in his mouth. Otherwise he wakes. Immediately. And this is if we are alone. Henry is a wonderful older brother, full of energy and enthusiasm. Arlo is completely captivated. Good and bad, I guess. This means day 1 of spring break Arlo woke up at 6a (Adjusted time – otherwise it would be 5! And guess which one I’m still on?) and napped a total of maybe 30 minutes today. It’s now 7p and he’s completely wired and won’t go to sleep. He’s on my back now while I bounce on the birth ball because I just gave up after trying to nurse him down for an hour in my bed.
What the fuck am I going to do this summer?! Arlo is almost 6 months and I still feel like I need a full-time house cleaner, cook, and sitter for each child. We’re going to start with sitter and house cleaner. I’ll do some camp. I want Henry to have a free and easy, unstructured summer.
This is by far the hardest job I’ve ever had. My most balls-out moment as a publicist was negotiating an exclusivity contract for an author and authority on Pope John Paul II’s death with a couple of VPs at CBS at their studios in west Manhattan. I learned later that that was a pretty dumb move as a publicist. But that’s not the only reason I want to smack 28-year-old Jojo in the face.
Oh my god, I’m so sorry. So sorry. It takes over your life and makes you crazy. I know. It’s not a sustainable way to live. I still have someone else clean my house every two weeks (not that I’m not cleaning constantly as it is).
The thing is, you have no idea how Arlo will be sleeping by the summer. It might be shitty, but it will definitely be different than how it is now, and probably better in some ways.
I feel for you, mama. The thirty-minute nap days with hours spent trying and failing to nurse them down are . . . there are just no words for the hell that are those days. The mental havoc they wreak, the physical toll they take. Lots of love to you. Hang in there.